SNOW WHITE had anlass of healthy e juice. "From now on I deny myself to them. These delights. I maintain ahetic distano more do I trip girlishly to their bed in the night, or after lunch, or in the misty mid-m. Not that I ever did. It was always my whim which goverhose gregarious enters summed up so well by Livy in the phrase, vae victis. I gratulate myself on that score at least. And no more will I chop their onions, boil their fettui, or mariheir flank steak. No more will I trudge about the house pursuing stain. No more will I fold their lingerie i bundles and stuff it away in the highboy. I am not even going to speak to them, now, except through third parties, or if I have something special to announce -- a new nuany mood, a new vagary, a ravagant caprice. I dont know what such a policy will win me. I am not even sure I wish to implement it. It seems small and mean-spirited. I have flig ideas. But the maihat runs through my brain is that what is, is insuffit. Where did that sulky notion e from? From the rental library, doubtless. Perhaps the seven men should have left me in the forest. To perish there, when all the roots and berries and rabbits and robins had been exhausted. If I had perished then, I would not be thinking now. It is true that there is a future in which I shall iably perish. There is that. Thinking terminates. One shall not always be leaning on ones elbow in the bed at a quarter to four in the m, w if the Japanese are happier than their piglike Western poraries. Another e juice, with a little vodka in it this time."
"I HAVE killed this whole bottle of Chablis wine by myself," Dan said. "And that other bottle of Chablis too -- that one uhe bed. And that other bottle of Chablis too -- the oh the brown dle stu the mouth of it. And I am not afraid. Not of what may e, not of what has been. Now I will light that long cigar, that cigar that stretches from Mont St. Michel and Chartres, to uhe volo. What is merely fashionable will fade away, and what is merely new will fade away, but what will not fade away, is the way I feel: analogies break down, regimes break down, but the way I feel remains. I feel abandoned. After a hard day tending the vats, and washing the buildings, one wants to e home and find a leg of mutton oable, in a rich gravy with little pearly onions studded in it, and perhaps a small pot of Irish potatoes somewhere about. Instead I e home to this nothingness. Now she sits in her room reading Dissent and admiring her figure in the mirror. She still loves us, in a way, but it isnt enough. It is a failure of leadership, I feel. We have bee sug the mop again. True leadership would make her love us fiercely aingly, as in the old days. True leadership would find a way out of this hairy imbroglio. I am tired of Bills halting explanations, promises. If he doesnt want to lead, the us vote. That is all I have to say, except one more thing: when one has been bending over a hot vat all day, one doesnt want to e home and hear a lot of hump from a cow-hearted leader whose leadership buttons have fallen off -- some fellow who spends the dreamy days eating cabbage and watg ships, while you are at work. Work, with its charts, its lines of authority, its air of importance."
"THE refusal of emotion produervousness," Bill said dipping into the barrel of det absinthe. "Remember that. You are tense as a wire-walker, Hubert. If it is still possible to heave a sigh you should heave it. If it is still possible to rip o